


Long Live the Resolution

by zayndehaan



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Debate Club, F/M, M/M, Underage Drinking, various Les Amis shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayndehaan/pseuds/zayndehaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire becomes a reluctant member of the debate club (but we all really know he's only there to try and get into Enjolras' pants).</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Happy birthday, <a href="http://sauntered-vaguely-downwards.tumblr.com">Nicola</a>!</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijugroupiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijugroupiee/gifts).



Grantaire crosses his arms, sulking. “I don’t want to be a part of your stupid debate team, Enjolras,” the teenager gripes loudly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling of Lesgles’ basement. “The sheer dorkiness alone will fatally wound my reputation.”

“You don’t have a reputation,” Enjolras retorts. “And it’s not dorky, it’s… debate! It’s like organized fighting.”

“There is, actually,” Feuilly interjects, “already a name for the specimen you just described, and that name would be war.” Prouvaire crows with laughter and high-fives Feuilly at what was admittedly a terrible joke, and Enjolras glares at them both.

“Be serious, guys, come on,” Enjolras says, despairing, “I’m trying to get Grantaire an extra English credit here-”

“Whoa, whoa.” Grantaire stops his best friend, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. “You get an extra English credit for doing debate?”

“Uh-huh,” the leader nods, shrugging. “Of course.”

Grantaire stares at Enjolras appraisingly. “And you mentioned something about a year-end pizza party that I get to miss class for?”

Enjolras frowns sternly. “Well, yes, but that’s not the reason you shou-”

“I’ll do it!” Grantaire exclaims, interrupting Enjolras.

The group applauds and toasts, everyone raising their drink of choice. Combeferre is the DD (because somehow, Combeferre always ends up as the DD), so his drink of choice is a plain glass of Sprite. Enjolras and Grantaire both have wine coolers that Grantaire stole from his parents, and Courfeyrac and Prouvaire lift their matching glasses of dry gin. Feuilly has brought his own custom drink, like usual. Marius is texting at the end of the couch, so he doesn’t partake in the cheer, and Eponine is watching Marius out of the corner of her eye bitterly, drinking raspberry vodka with a sour expression. Joly and Lesgles toast to each other, and then link elbows and sip each other’s hard lemonades.

“To becoming a master debater,” Grantaire cheers, winking at Enjolras.

Enjolras hits him lightly on the head with his bottle, frowning. “The first rule of debate club is that we never make that joke.”

“I thought the first rule of debate club was that you weren’t supposed to talk about debate club,” Joly contradicts him loudly, arm still linked with Lesgles.

Courfeyrac laughs, and then says, eyes widening, “Hey, can we watch Fight Club?”

“No, man,” Marius says, finally putting his phone down for a moment. “You can’t watch Fight Club when you’re drunk. That’s like watching The Muppets when you’re not high.”

“Hey, looks like someone decided to come back to the world of the single,” Feuilly says, poking Marius in the side jovially. “How’s Cosette?”

Everyone flutters their eyelashes at Marius and puckers their lips, and Marius groans and replies through his teeth, “She’s fine, thanks for asking. Her dad won’t let her come over.”

“Yo, her dad’s kind of a tool,” Prouvaire says, more to appease Marius than because of his actual opinion on Mr. Valjean. “I mean, not, like, Ponine’s-dad levels of tool-ish-ness, but still.”

Eponine shrugs her head to the left slightly, agreeing with a muted nod.

“So,” Marius says, “I missed the conclusion. Did Enjolras get you to sign up for his harem of nerds, Grantaire?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire answers, grinning maniacally.

“Harem of nerds,” Lesgles repeats quietly, eyebrows raised with approval. “Hmm. Good one.”

“It is not a harem of nerds,” huffs Enjolras, taking another swig from his wine cooler.

Joly holds up a hand to stop the leader, and then says, voice hushed. “Whoa. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Does that make you the pimp, Enjolras?”

“I am not being Enjolras’ bitch,” Grantaire complains, crossing his arms once more.

“Like you already weren’t,” Eponine pipes up from her corner, and everyone laughs, including Marius and excluding Enjolras and Grantaire, who both grumble and look at each other for an instant before staring down into their bottles.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Lesgles says, standing up shakily and giggling as he tries to straighten his posture. “So, what if, like, we watched… okay.” The teenager stumbles over to his DVD cabinet, and pulls it open, staring at the neatly organized movies. “Titanic?”

“Hell no,” Feuilly and Courfeyrac say in unison. Prouvaire looks suddenly glum, and mumbles an incomprehensible reply. Combeferre pats Prouvaire on the shoulder gently, and whispers, “It’s okay, I like it too.”

"Jehan, you are so gay," Eponine complains loudly, moving over to examine the DVD stacks. "Okay. Uh. Pulp Fiction?"

Lesgles slips Eponine a disgruntled look, and Marius pipes up, "Some Tarantino doesn't sound too bad, actually."

Eponine looks like she won the movie-picking lottery.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Enjolras agrees, and everyone else chimes in their approval and/or disinterest.

Soon enough, they're watching Pulp Fiction, and the teenagers are all assembled in various positions on and around the couch. Eponine goes to sit down beside Marius, and Feuilly squeezes in on her other side. Lesgles and Joly, surprise surprise, cuddle with one another on the floor. Nobody mentions it.

Enjolras sits between Combeferre and Grantaire, and Combeferre spends the movie discussing the artistic merits of the film as a cult classic with Courfeyrac, so Enjolras ends up with his leg pressed up against Grantaire's. He can smell the wine on the other boy's breath, and it somehow smells a lot nicer than the absinthe concoctions he usually has.

"That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence," Uma says on-screen, and Enjolras leans over to Grantaire.

"Thanks."

The teenager looks up at him through his eyelashes and swallows. "What for?"

"For saying you'd help me with debate. It really does mean a lot to m--"

"Listen to Mia and shut up," Grantaire mutters, but Enjolras can see a sparkle in his eye, so he stretches his arm around the other boy's shoulders and lets it settle there. 

* * *

The next day, Grantaire has the worst hangover of his life since last Tuesday.

"The wha... debate club?" he slurs into the receiver. "Was that today?"

"No," Enjolras hisses over the phone. "I thought you could come over and we could work on our platform."

"Can we _not_ ," Grantaire mumbles, but he's already out of bed and pulling up his trousers. "I have the worst hangover of my lif--"

"That's what you said last Tuesday," the leader spits back. "R, please. You said you would."

Grantaire bites back his immediate response of "I was so drunk that if you had asked me to fly to America and get hitched with you I probably would have answered the same thing", and instead sighs and passes a hand over his forehead. "Yeah, fine, okay."

"Thank you," Enjolras says before the line goes dead, and Grantaire drops his phone into his coat pocket.

The thing about Enjolras, he reflects as he puts on his shoes and walks to the other boy's house, is that there's a reason why everyone in their group of friends refers to him as their Fearless Leader. He could convince anyone to do anything he needed them to do, whether it's an impromptu road trip to Disneyland over spring break or membership on the debate team. Grantaire is pretty sure that he's doing this solely because of the other boy's persuasive skills.

Of course, the fact that he's been pining over the boy for years now has nothing to do with it at all.

From the moment Enjolras had sauntered into his grade 8 language arts class, with a mop of curls on his head and blue eyes like the sky, interrupting their lesson on Greek mythology, Grantaire had had a ridiculously massive crush on him. Unfortunately, Enjolras had sat down right next to him, and they'd immediately become best friends, inseparable and irreplaceable.

Grantaire kicks a rock into the street as he walks. On the scale of ridiculous romantic clichés, he's pretty sure he's a 15 out of 10. He would rather keep all of his emotions bottled up than jeopardize their friendship and, wow, looking back, that may have led to his drinking habits.

Grantaire sighs. He wasn't able to sneak any absinthe from his secret stash this morning, or make himself any drink of any sort. Which means that he's got an awful headache, and he's heading over to work on debate, and he's _not drunk_.

The teenager knocks twice on the door to Enjolras' house, and then smiles brightly as his friend opens the door. "Got any alcohol?" is the first thing he asks as he walks through the door.

Enjolras' face drops and he flails around, shushing Grantaire wildly. "Shut up! My mother is in the other room!"

Grantaire chuckles drily, and then his face also drops. "Wait. Your parents are here?" This idea is honestly sounding worse and worse by the second.

"Only for an hour before they leave for work," Enjolras explains bemusedly, and Grantaire groans aloud.

"Grantaire, dear, is that you?" Enjolras' mother calls out, and he winces before pulling his best friend into the other room.

"Yes, it's me," Grantaire answers, glaring at Enjolras for a moment before straightening up and falsely smiling. "Hello!"

"Oh, Grantaire," the woman cries out with delight, "come here." Enjolras' mother once had a full head of blonde curls, but now they're graying and the area around her eyes is becoming wrinkled. She still has the same bright blue eyes as her son, though, something that Grantaire has teased Enjolras about time and time again. "You look as handsome as ever. The girls must all be fighting over you."

"No, no, not quite," Grantaire deflects. There will probably be a day when he tells Enjolras' parents he'd rather suck a cock, but it is definitely not today. To reiterate, he _isn't even drunk._

Enjolras has a pained expression as he grabs Grantaire's hand and pulls him away, exclaiming, "We've got work to do, mom!"

"All right, just let me know if you need anything!" his mother's voice echoes behind them as they run up the stairs to Enjolras' room.

"I need a big glass of--" Grantaire begins, promptly cut off by Enjolras placing a hand over his mouth and inadvertently slamming him back into the wall of the stairwell.

"Are you trying to get me grounded indefinitely?" Enjolras demands, and even if Grantaire _wanted_ to listen to the other boy lecture him, he can't focus because Enjolras is literally pushing him up against a wall and covering his mouth. His brain practically short-circuits almost immediately, and his face heats up into a dark shade of red.

Enjolras removes his hand, shaking his head and walking up the rest of the stairs, and Grantaire is left panting against the wall for a moment before he follows Enjolras. He bites back the urge to scream out "do you even _have_ a sex drive", and instead quips at his back, "Calm down, Apollo."

Enjolras stills for a moment, hand on the doorknob to his room. "Do you guys still call me that? The group, I mean?"

Grantaire shrugs slightly. Because Enjolras had conveniently transferred right in the middle of their grade eight lesson on Greek mythology, until Grantaire learned the new student's name he had mentally referred to him as Apollo. When Grantaire had told Joly and Courfeyrac of the name, the news had spread, and it had become an instant inside joke. Most people credited its creation to Lesgles, and Grantaire usually didn't bother correcting them. After all, he was still trying to hide the fact that he was madly in love with him.

After a few years, the joke had practically died, and now Grantaire (and, sometimes, Ponine) seems to be the only one who calls him the nickname. It just feels... right for Enjolras.

Enjolras smiles slowly, and then opens the door to his room. It's as clean as usual, with the exception of the papers strewn everywhere over the bed.

"What's this?" Grantaire questions, picking up one of the papers. He sees the words "Be it resolved that" on the page and instinctively drops it back onto the bed.

Enjolras tsks him quietly, and then picks up the paper he'd dropped. "This is the resolution of our next debate: Be it resolved that capital punishment is a beneficial policy."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. "So does our team... y'know, support that? Or are we trying to disprove it?"

"We're the proposition," Enjolras states, flipping through the other papers on the bed.

Grantaire blinks owlishly at him. "So does our team support it, or are we trying to disprove it?"

Enjolras glances up and they exchange a look. "R, do you even have the slightest idea how debate works?"

"Of course," Grantaire sniffs, doing his best to sound offended. "There are... two sides. And they're fighting. Over a topic."

"Well, that's a start," Enjolras mutters. "Okay, so the side defending the resolution is the proposition; us. The other side is the opposition, they're opposing it. First we introduce ourselves, because we're the affirmative side. We present our case to the judge, and then we get two intervals to speak to present our points. In-between each point, the other side, the Opp., presents their points. After that, the Opp. does their rebuttal, and then we do ours. And then the judge decides who won."

"And the topic we're debating is capital punishment?"

"Absolutely," Enjolras says, sounding more excited about capital punishment than probably necessary. "The debate coach gave us the best one, I think. Most of the other ones have morally ambiguous arguments, and it'd be hard to avoid non-unique points or fallacies."

Grantaire sits on the bed, and then moves so that he's lying on his stomach, reading through a handful of the papers. "So you've already got most of your points figured out, then?"

"Yup," Enjolras says.

"Incapacitation of the criminal, nice," Grantaire muses, reading through. "Cost, and... retribution?"

"That fewer criminals will be tempted to commit crimes if they know that there is a definite penalty," Enjolras says, and the words don't sound rehearsed or learned at all.

Grantaire glances up at his best friend, and sees the student's face lit up with a sort of fire. He's seen this face on the boy before. The only thing Enjolras really ever gets excited about any more is schoolwork.

"Apollo..." Grantaire says, placing the papers gingerly back down on the bedspread. "Do you believe in this stuff?"

Enjolras watches him for a long moment. "No," he finally answers. "I just picked the side that I knew would be most likely to win."

Grantaire stares back. "Okay."

A poignant silence fills the room, and then Enjolras says, "Should we get to work, then?" 

* * *

Last night is all sort of a blur of John Travolta and wine coolers, so Grantaire doesn't remember specifically who, but he does remember that somebody brought up the notion that debate would be an easy English credit.

Whoever that somebody was, they were a total liar.

Two hours of planning later, Grantaire's headache had increased tenfold, but he and Enjolras had managed to hammer out the details and subpoints of each of their ideas. Along the way, Grantaire had learned lots of debate terms and lingo, which horrifies him to no end.

"So does that definition of beneficial work for you?" Enjolras asks him, and he shrugs.

"I don't know, seems like more of a claim than a definition," Grantaire answers, literally ashamed of himself for knowing the proper words for these things.

"You're right," the student admits, pulling out a dictionary from the cabinet beside his bed. Grantaire watches him with awe.

"Well, that settles it," he mumbles, and Enjolras' sharp gaze flies up to meet his.

"Settles what?" the student demands, and Grantaire flushes slightly.

"It's just that... you know," Grantaire gestures vaguely around in the air. "Most high-school students keep other sorts of reading material right by their bedside."

Enjolras blinked several times in rapid succession. "You mean... a novel?"

"No, I don't mean a damn novel," Grantaire rolls his eyes, face growing steadily redder by the minute. "You know. Magazines and shit. For people who actually have sex drives."

 _There. It's out_ , he thinks, trying to avoid looking at the expression on Enjolras' face.

After a pause, Enjolras says quietly and curiously, "I have a sex drive," and Grantaire's eyes snap up to meet his.

"Oh," Grantaire manages to get out, sounding and feeling strangled. "Really?"

"Yes, really," the student responds. "I... did you think I--"

"No," Grantaire blurts out, waving his hands around nonsensically. "I. No. Yes. A little bit. We all kind of did."

"Hmm," Enjolras comments, looking contemplative, and Grantaire's face colors further.

"Look, can we just... get back to the resolution?"

"Absolutely," Enjolras nods, and picks up a paper.  "Okay, so for our introduction, I'll go first because I'm the Prime Minister, technically."

Grantaire lies back on the bed, invaluably grateful for the apparent lack of tension between them, even after that conversational blunder.

A second later, he realizes what the fact that Enjolras isn't asexual possibly entails, and he has to shift on the bed to cover himself.

* * *

"Grantaire," the teacher greets him, sounding surprised. "Are you joining the debate team? Didn't really think our group was up your alley."

"Apollo here conned me into it," Grantaire blames instantly, and Enjolras pushes him slightly, smiling at the teacher. "Hello, Mr. Javert."

"Hello, Enjolras," Javert replies with a soft smile. He turns back to Grantaire, a questioning look in his eyes. "Apollo?"

"Long story," Enjolras says. "It's an absurd nickname, really. Not even as if I look like him."

"No, no, I can see it," Javert muses. He's a strict teacher, and Grantaire had him for English last year. The curriculum in his class revolved mostly around Shakespeare, but Javert had focused on the aspects of revenge and the tragic hero pattern within the plays and stories that they'd covered. "It's the eyes, I think."

"Right?" Grantaire exclaims with delight, punching Enjolras in the shoulder. "See? He gets it!"

Javert's face grows serious as more students filter into the room. There aren't actually that many people Grantaire recognizes, which isn't surprising because if he did have a clique, this would not be it. He sees Combeferre sitting beside a gorgeous blonde girl who is _light-years_ out of his league, and chatting with her quite comfortably. Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and goes to sit down beside Enjolras, prodding at his side to get his attention.

"Who's that girl sitting next to Combeferre?" he asks, and Enjolras turns to look.

"That's Cosette Fauchelevent," Enjolras states, and Grantaire performs a double-take. Cosette, like, of _Marius-and-Cosette_ fame? Cosette, like, the girlfriend that Marius talks about and texts so much that most of the group has a betting pool going that she's imaginary?

Cosette reaches up and brushes a single blonde hair out of her fair, pale face, and if Grantaire wasn't as gay as the day was long, he might have just fallen in love.

"She is _gorgeous_ ," Grantaire breathes out, and Enjolras turns to look at him.

"She's dating Marius," Enjolras states. "I don't think you're going to have much luck there, R."

Grantaire observes Cosette for a beat longer, and then blinks hard, his head whirling around to look at Enjolras. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, better luck next time," Enjolras says, looking amused.

Grantaire's jaw drops in disbelief, and then he sputters out, "Do you _honestly_ think I am interested in Cosette?"

"You seem interested," Enjolras admits, and Grantaire feels like smacking his head down onto the desk in front of him.

"Apollo, are you serious?" Grantaire begins. This is freaking impossible. There is no fucking way that Enjolras actually doesn't know that he's gay. _Everyone_ knows he's gay. When he'd started to give the group the coming-out speech, they had literally passed money back and forth to each other because everyone had already known.

But... come to think of it, Enjolras might have actually missed that day.

Grantaire quickly opens his mouth to clear any confusion up, and Javert says loudly, "All right, everyone, I'd like to begin."

The two dozen or so students that constitute the debate club settle down, and Grantaire crosses his arms, frowning slightly.

Javert announces the teams and members, and who's defending and opposing which resolution. He goes down the list of resolutions, and then comes to the second last one. "Be it resolved that capital punishment is a beneficial policy. The proposition: first speaker Enjolras, second speaker Grantaire."

A couple people turn around with confused looks, and spot Grantaire. He salutes them back with a false grin, sighing. Apparently his reputation precedes him here too, even amongst the debate nerds of the school. He can tell exactly what they're thinking, but they're all, as a matter of fact, wrong-- he didn't have time to prepare any drinks before school this morning, so, no, he's not actually drunk.

"The opposition: first speaker Cosette, second speaker Combeferre."

"We're going up against them?" Grantaire whispers to Enjolras. "You never mentioned that!"

"I didn't know," Enjolras mutters back. "This is troubling. Combeferre is a highly proficient debater, and he usually takes first speaker. If he's deferring to second, that must mean that Cosette is very talented."

"Or it means that he's just pandering to her 'cause she's hot," Grantaire adds, and Enjolras fixes him with a very stern look and opens his mouth to no doubt deliver some lecture on Combeferre's dignity, so he changes the topic. "Have you never debated with her before, then?"

"No," Enjolras answers. "I have no idea how she fights, what her strengths and weaknesses are. Judging from the soft-hearted description that Marius gives of her constantly, I'd guess that she'll try and pull the sympathy card with the judge."

Grantaire ponders this for a moment. "But the judge is Javert. So that won't work, right?"

"Mr. Valjean is going to be judging," Enjolras amends, looking pained, and Grantaire groans as he connects the dots. Valjean is Grantaire's English teacher this year, and he's incredibly kind and forgiving. Grantaire had owed him three assignments from the beginning of the term, and when he handed them in months late with no apology all he got was a smile and a thank you. He's also, to make matters a fuck of a lot worse, Cosette's foster father.

"Shit," Grantaire curses quietly, and Javert somehow hears it from the front of the room and gives Grantaire a look that could freeze fire. "Sorry, Ja- Mr. Javert, sir."

"As I was saying," Javert continues, "the debates will be held on Tuesday of next week, and attendance to all debates is mandatory even if you aren't participating in the debate. Thank you for your time, everyone. I believe Bahorel has brought some snacks, so feel free to mingle before you leave for whatever teenagers do when they're not at school. Have a nice day."

Javert steps out of the room, and Grantaire is about to get up to go run and grab some chips, but he feels a hand grabbing his arm. He glances down at Enjolras' fingers, which are wrapped around his arm, and then he looks up to the student's blue eyes.

"What?" he mumbles, and Enjolras' face flushes a little. It's the first time Grantaire has ever seen the teenager blush, and he revels in the moment, taking in the embarrassment on Enjolras' face.

"Uh, I. You were going to say something earlier about Cosette?"

Grantaire shrugs, and suddenly Enjolras' grip on his arm seems to tighten. "Just that, you know, even if Marius wasn't dating her, I wouldn't be going for it."

Enjolras remains frozen, so Grantaire coaxes gently, "You know. Because I'm gay and all."

The leader stays in place, but his grip on Grantaire's arm slowly loosens, and then he grins widely. "R-Right, yeah, of course. Obviously."

Grantaire nods once, feeling like he's missing something. Then he stands up, and walks over to the snack table, grabbing a handful of Lay's.

He manages to put the matter out of his mind for a few minutes as he walks to his locker to grab his coat so he doesn't freeze on the way home. Debate club meets from 3:30 to 5:00 every Monday and Thursday, which, _oh crap_ , he may have forgotten to inform his parents of. He pulls out his phone and texts them, and right before he puts it away it rings in his hand.

Bemusedly, he answers it.

"Hello?"

"R!" Eponine's excited voice calls through the receiver. "R, where are you?"

"Still at the school, I ended up going to the debate thingy."

He hears a squeak of delight, and then: "Okay, is Enjolras with you?"

"Uh, no," he says. "I think he got a ride from his paren--"

"Oh my god, oh my god, okay, stay there," he hears Eponine chant before she hangs up.

"Okay?" Grantaire replies over the dead line, pulling his coat over his shoulders and shutting his locker. He smiles for no real reason. Enjolras may be his best friend and the love of his life, but Eponine has been his friend since kindergarten, when he'd asked her out on a date and she'd kicked him in the balls. They've gone through a lot: Eponine's whole family going broke and crazi _er_ , Grantaire experimenting around with his sexuality, Eponine developing a frankly ridiculous crush on the new boy in their class in grade two, and Grantaire discovering that absinthe was a wonderful way to forget another boy's smile. Together, they've helped each other tremendously. He's helped her deal with Marius' new girlfriend, and reduce her bordering-on-obsessive crush to a simpler state of merely having the hots for him. She's helped him not die of alcoholism. Grantaire views it as a fair trade.

So he stays by his locker, waiting patiently until the girl finally dashes around the corner, hat askew on her head.

"You are not going to believe what happened," Eponine begins in lieu of a hello.

"What?" Grantaire answers.

The girl reaches into her pocket, and pulls out her cell phone, still panting from sprinting down the hallway. "Just read 'em, okay?"

Grantaire sees that the phone is displaying her text conversations with Enjolras. He's totally about to shake his head and hand the phone back and respect Enjolras' privacy, when he accidentally skims the first text on screen.

"I, _what_ ," he breathes out as Eponine beams at him.

 

 **Enjolras** : So it turns out that R is gay and that ALL of you have neglected to mention this to me???

 _Eponine_ : Wait you didn't know? :O

 _Eponine_ : What difference does it make tho

 **Enjolras** : It makes a pretty big difference

 _Eponine_ : omg wait

 _Eponine_ : hold that fucking htought

 **Enjolras** : ?

 **Enjolras** : What's wrong?

 **Enjolras** : What are you doing Ponine don't interfere

 

He finishes scanning through them a second time, and then looks up at Eponine in disbelief. "Don't interfere?" he repeats back to her.

"That's what you're choosing to focus on?!" She grabs the phone back from him, and then reads aloud, over-emphasizing every word: "It makes a pretty big difference."

"Yeah, so?" Grantaire quips back, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat. "Maybe he's homophobic or something."

Eponine fixes Grantaire with the most scathing I-am-having-0-percent-of-your-bullshit-right-now look she has ever mustered, and demands, "Do you honestly think _Enjolras_ is homophobic? Our Enjolras. Apollo. You know, the one who's seen Brokeback Mountain six times and has cried every time?"

Grantaire bites down hard on his lower lip. "No. I... no, but-- I mean-- what else could it mean?"

Eponine's expression falters, and she knocks him upside the head. "Are you kidding me? Dude! Go to him!"

"What?" Grantaire says, taken aback and sort of in a daze. "Go... why?"

"Isn't this what you've been waiting for for years, R? For Enjolras to finally show a human emotion other than passion for schoolwork?"

Grantaire did a double-take, and then looked at Eponine. She was sounding uncannily like the voice he usually heard in his head (not the one that looked like the Green Fairy and insulted him constantly, the one that reminded him of his mother for some reason). "Uh."

"Oh, come on," Eponine continued, poking him in the side. "Just ask him what he was talking about. If it doesn't work out, you can blame everything on me. If it does, then I should get all the credit."

"Uh," Grantaire repeated, completely lost. "Can I at least go get some liquid courage first? This'll be about a thousand times easier if I'm drunk--"

Eponine jabbed an accusing finger at his chest, and scolded him, "No. No way. You really want to be _drunk_ if Apollo confesses his feelings for you?"

 _Yes_ , Grantaire thinks, but he answers obediently, "No. Ugh, fine, whatever. What do you want me to do?"

* * *

Grantaire walks up to the door of the house, feeling anxious and unready for everything. What if Enjolras got mad at Grantaire for reading texts that were sent to Eponine? What if he just got mad at him for even presuming to think about anything close to reciprocation? Grantaire wants to turn and run right now, but Eponine's old lemon is parked by the curb, and he knows that if he gives up his friend will literally storm inside Enjolras' house and tell him herself.

He knocks, and then bites his tongue, forcing himself to stay in one place. He waits for a long moment, praying to himself that Enjolras isn't home for some reason. He has a weird bubble of anticipation and anxiety rising up in his throat, and he would kill someone for a bottle of absinthe right now.

The door opens, because the universe has it in for Grantaire, and Enjolras is standing there, leaning against the door. He looks frazzled and tired for some reason, and his hair is slightly messy. Still, when he recognizes Grantaire, he visibly straightens up, smiling.

"Uh, hi," he begins, grinning like a dopey idiot.

"Hi," Grantaire blurts out, feeling like he's about to screw up every part of his relationship with the leader of the group. "So... Eponine showed me the text you sent her?"

He has never quite been one for subtlety.

Enjolras flushes immediately. "Oh. Uh. Which text?"

"The one... where you... okay, just, this is really hard for me, and I'd appreciate it if you would just shut up and listen."

The student's eyes drift away from him, and focus on the car parked on the street. "Is Eponine forcing you into something here?"

"No," Grantaire grits out. "Sorta. Well, she made me come here, so yes, but she has no idea what I'm saying right now."

Enjolras looks a little relieved, and he leans against the doorframe further and listens to Grantaire obediently.

"Okay, okay," Grantaire begins, smacking his palms down against his knees nervously. "The thing is, um, I've been running over reasons why it could make a big difference that I was gay, and there aren't actually that many logical ones, unless gay people aren't allowed to participate in debate club or something."

Enjolras looks more confused than before, and opens his mouth to retort. Grantaire quickly continues, "So, I, uh, it, um, I know that if _you_ were gay, it'd make a big difference to _me_ , Apollo, because, I, uh, kind of think--"

Enjolras stares.

"No," Grantaire says, his voice getting a little more level, "I don't... I don't think, I'm actually certain, I'm certain that I'm in love with you."

There is a pregnant pause, and then Grantaire bounces on the balls of his feet, ready to turn and run at the drop of a hat.

"Good," Enjolras comments, and that is the exact polar opposite of what Grantaire thought he'd been about to say, and the complete 180 makes Grantaire stammer aloud, but Enjolras cuts him off by reaching out and grabbing the sleeves of his shirt. "Good," he repeats, pulling Grantaire closer.

"Wh," he manages to get out before Enjolras kisses him on the doorstep to his house.

A faint whoop echoes out from the direction of Eponine's car, but Grantaire couldn't care less as he kisses Enjolras back like he's drowning, because he's been waiting for this for a stupidly long time and fuck if the moment is going to be squandered by Eponine.

They pull away from each other after a minute for air, and Enjolras' eyes are dark and his mouth is slightly agape. "I've been waiting for that for years," he mumbles out, and this is so unfair, they could have done this _so_ long ago.

Grantaire kisses him again.

Yup, that's definitely Eponine whistling at them, and Grantaire would flip her the bird but she did kind of cause this. The next time they pull away, Enjolras yells out to her, "What other meanings could 'don't interfere' possibly entail?"

Grantaire laughs, pressing his forehead against Enjolras'. He feels remarkably free, and it's almost strange, because kissing Enjolras feels a lot like getting drunk.

* * *

"The winner of this debate, with the most speaker points and the clearer and more concise points, is..."

Enjolras bites down on his lip and Grantaire squeezes their hands together under the table. They'll do fine, he tells himself. Even though Cosette had actually been remarkably intelligent, and wasn't the blonde bimbo Grantaire had expected her to be, Combeferre had seemed slightly uncertain, and their points hadn't been as solid. Grantaire is confident that he and Apollo would win.

"Cosette and Combeferre!" Valjean announces with a grin, and Grantaire stands up, jaw dropping.

"Wh-" he begins angrily, but Enjolras stands up and loudly cuts him off with applause, and Grantaire reluctantly begins to clap too.

Once the audience quiets down, Grantaire hisses to Enjolras, "That was totally biased! Valjean just picked his daughter's side; we totally had the stronger case!"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, and mumbles back, "We gave it our best shot," but Grantaire can see how downcast he is that they didn't win.

He reaches out and takes Enjolras' hand once more, and then whispers, "We'll win the next one, all right?" with a smile.

Enjolras turns to him, slightly surprised. "You're staying in the debate club?"

"Of course," Grantaire snorts. "I need to kick Cosette's ass in the next debate."

"That's not the point of debate, R," Enjolras says, but he says it affectionately, so Grantaire kind of thinks that he might have said the right thing for once.


End file.
